


Robby

by Annabel_Lioncourt



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, starring these two nerds a kitten and an unwanted guest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabel_Lioncourt/pseuds/Annabel_Lioncourt
Summary: Amanda's latest pet-project is both slightly annoying, and incredibly endearing.





	Robby

June, 2138, Luna

 

             “Hey, do you know where I put the Christmas lights?” the apartment didn’t have much space for storage, seeing as Amanda had taken the smaller second bedroom over as a workshop, and the office she’d forced Samuels to take as an office space. The idea that anything could go missing was _odd_.

            “It’s… _June_ , dear.”

            “I know, I just need a couple of colored LEDs for my project,”

            Samuels waited a moment, debating between trying to help her, or staying where he was: sprawled on their living room floor, trying to encourage a sleepy grey kitten to pursue a catnip-stuffed mouse he was dragging in front of its noes.

            “What project?” he asked, scooping up the kitten as he rose. “And maybe you discarded the lights, I don’t recall seeing them with the rest of the boxes from the storage locker,” he followed the sound of Amanda shuffling around crates to her workshop. The room only slightly larger than his office, but it felt _much_ smaller between her worktable, toolbox towers, and a tote of junk from the locker she wasn’t sure about parting with just yet.

            “I might have gotten rid of them, but…damn it. I could take the pin lights out from the old multi-tool, its not important.”

            “…What exactly is this for?” he asked her again, absentmindedly petting the cat, which was now completely asleep and limp as a ragdoll in his arms.

            “Chris I said I don’t want Gary in the shop,” she said.

            “I’ll hold on to him, he’ll be fine,” he said. It appeased her enough.

            “Whatever,” she went back to the worktable and lifted up a small steel-blue contraption. It had conveyer-belt wheels on the bottom of it, not unlike a toy tank. But this thing had a head, which was currently opened to reveal a rather concerning mess of animatronics and two empty eye-sockets, waiting for their LEDs. He had a half-formed wonder at what his own skull would look like if bisected in the same fashion, but dismissed it.

            “And that is…?”

            “Isn’t it cute?” she smiled. “I found him at Chronology Tech last week, looking at antiques.” She put the ‘face’ back on it and stood it up on the table. “He’s kind of broken, and they don’t make the batteries he uses anymore—AAA alkaline, late 20th century I think—so I’m trying to refit him with a sectionalized power loop cut out of a larger power cell—“

            “Is that where my spare went?”

            “—And give him new bulbs the eyes. Eventually he’ll be able to move around on his own. I’ll put a sensor in his head so he can tell how close he is to objects and doesn’t break himself.”

            Samuels looked at the toy robot, to the young woman holding it, and back twice. “Amanda, really?”

            “What’s wrong? I thought you’d like it,” the laugh threatening to crack through her serious expression was more endearing than her latest project was concerning, and he shook his head.

            “Nothing.”

            “What do you think of him?”

             He gave his reply in his very English deadpan, with far better control over his laughter than she had: “I suppose it’s charming if you're interested in that sort of thing.” Mindful of the cat he was still holding, he leaned over her desk. “Which," he kissed her forehead, "evidentially you are.”

            “Cute,” she said, realizing she walked right into that one. “Hand me the number-one Phillips-head on your way out.”

 

            An hour later he had brought her dinner, and the toy was emitting an awfully irksome screech. Further into the evening he tried to urge her let it be for the evening, and she was insistent that she was going to completely rebuild it, make it so it could rove about in multiple directions on its on, even ‘look’ at objects and give simple expressions.

            The irony that she was so engrossed in its development when he was standing in the doorway, also vying for her attention was lost on her.

            “Amanda its after midnight, why don’t you let it rest for now?”

            “I know, I know. I’ll go to bed soon. Promise,” she said, not looking up from the circuit board in front of her.

            “The schedule you have in the kitchen; it says that you’re off tomorrow, and its hypocritical of me to say it, since I’m normally trying to convince you to sleep _more_ but—“ Amanda’s eyes glittered, very amused at how flustered he was. “—I’d like to request your company. Come to bed. Please.”

            She thinks on the suggestion, and his shy smile. “Give me ten minutes.”

 

            Thirty minutes later Ripley was still nowhere in sight. Without a sound from her workshop, Samuels went back to the work room; she was asleep with her head on her arms, at the table. “Amy…?” she really did need to learn to take better care of herself.

            “….huh?” she was half asleep when he pulled out her chair, offering her a hand to help her up.

            “You fell asleep, dear,”

             Instead of taking his hand for support she laced her arms around his neck lazily; he didn’t mind carrying her across the flat, it was nearly effortless for him. “Next please give up for the night, _before_ you pass out at your desk… _again_.”

            “…jus’ pissed…because you’re not getting any tonight…” she mumbled.

            “Amy, I’m not mad—Never mind,” he set her down by the bed. She was unsteady on her feet like she was drunk while she undressed down to her pants and stumbled into bed. “Are you alright?” he didn’t expect anything more from her than the slight exhausted groan she answered with, and didn’t mind. Once he had settled next to her, a barrier between her and the rest of the room, he waited until she was soundly asleep before allowing himself to rest.

             By adjusting all running programs to pause or cease, he could set into a sort of half-power state. It used to annoy him; the semi-conscious state seemed like an absurd waste of time. Then Amanda had started taking him with her to bed, and the idea of calmly shutting down all but the human mimicry functions and basic senses for a few hours, aware only of her steady breathing, her perfect 37° body nestled close to his…partial power mode felt like a blessing. It made him feel nearly human.

 

 

            In the morning Amanda had risen early and was back in her workshop again, and Samuels resigned himself to being the second or third thing on her list for a short while. It’s not that this is the first project that has taken her full attention for a few days, and he’s grateful that he’s here with her at all—he’s not complaining that he doesn’t have her to himself constantly, its unrealistic. But this project in particular bothered him.

             And yet… Not long after he brought her coffee ( _“You’re not my butler, you don’t have to keep waiting on me."_ ) he heard the toy buzz to life in a series of mechanical twitches and beeps. He only hoped that that sound didn’t last long.

              However, in line with the typicality of his existence ever since the damned thing started to make noise _it hasn’t stopped._ Amanda isn’t bothered, and he half wondered if she didn’t have earplugs in because it was increasingly irritating even to his endless patience.

             He was getting his coat from the closet, and just about to leave an hour or so to get away from it when she sticks her head out the doorway of her workroom with a smile.

            “I’ve almost got him functional, if you want to wait a second.”

 _So close_ …he thought. Hanging his coat back up, he crossed the hall to her, he tried and failed not to look bothered that he couldn’t escape.

            “Look,” she was grinning, oblivious at his lack of interest, and turned the toy back on. Its LED eyes lit up, blinking erratically. Samuels raised an eyebrow at her. “Hold on, watch,” she lifted it up and set it on the floor. “I got his sensors working, he’ll seek people out, but not run into them anymore.”

            As promised, the little blue bot rolled on its treaded wheels up to him. He crouched down to inspect his lover’s work. It was unrecognizable from the wreck it had been when she bought it, now it was shiny, and though decidedly… _retro_ …it had a certain sweetness to it.

            Up close, it was much less annoying.

            “Say hi!” Amanda said. Samuels gave her an incredulous look before focusing again the bot.

            “Hello,” it whirred and beeped happily in response to being spoken directly to; his eyes widened as he noticed its suddenly expressive face. Gingerly, he picked it up, smiling widely. “Hello!” he repeated, and once again its eyes flashed in recognition and it sounded off again. “What do we name him?”

            “I’ve been calling it Robby, but—“

            “I mean is his surname Ripley or Samuels?” he asked, and she couldn’t tell if he was being serious, or sarcastic.

            “Chris you can’t be—“

            “Traditionally children take their father’s name, but we’re not married so—“

            “Look at me, Chris,” Amanda was as entertained by his reaction to it as much as she was sympathetic of it, and crosses the room to him “Its just plastic; it’s a _toy_.”

            “No it’s not we made it,” he stepped back from her as she moved to take it.

            “First of all _I_ made it,” she attempted to protest.

            “I handed you a screwdriver!”

            “You didn’t _help_ —“

            “—From my understanding of human reproduction, if this was an actual child my role in its pre-natal development wouldn’t be much more than that.”

            _“Oh my God,”_

            “ _And_ you used _my_ power cell in it—“

            “Which we _bought at the hardware store_ , and you _never used_ ,” she said. The smaller of the two robots in the room squealed again, almost as if it wanted to be put back down.

            “He has your voice,” his doting smile didn’t mask the taunting gleam in his eyes as he set it on the floor again for it to roam about.

            “Yes, and your interpersonal skills,” she moved to stand at his side, watching her handiwork roll around, blinking and beeping as if it was entertaining itself.

            “He’s quite charming; certainly didn’t get that from either of us.” His smile is so genuine, that she still can’t quite tell if he _was_ joking or not.

            “Its just a toy,” she said softly.

            “I know.” There was no masking his disappointment, even as he gave up on the joke, and Amanda leaned into him. “Perhaps for the best; I’m not sure how the cats would take to a toddler running about.”

            “True,” she replied. “

            “And of course, I have enough on my hands making sure you’re breathing, and not in any sort of immediately dangerous situations. Looking after another person yet, I’d probably fry a circuit… or three.”

            “Are you saying that I’m difficult?” she looked up at him, his smile was still a bit sad, but she recognized the glint in his eyes.

            “You have exceptionally dangerous ideas of fun, you regularly put yourself in situations with work and recreational pursuits that put you directly at risk for electrocution, and you never accept the answer of ‘no.’” she bit her tongue, letting him finish before she took her turn.

            “What would you do without me?” she was still smiling. “Your life would be very boring.”

            It was with a very certain smile that he replied: “Without you, I would be nothing. I would be no more human than Robby.”

            “Don’t talk like that, you would always be—“

            “And about Robby, I would prefer you didn’t scrap him for parts.” He was changing the subject, and for now she respected his wish to avoid it.

            “Alright, fine, I won’t dismember our kid,” he’s almost laughing in response to her mock-serious tone, but his smile is entirely caused by the glitter of humor in her eyes. “But if he gets oil on the carpet, you’re cleaning it up.”

**Author's Note:**

> based on a much shorter ficlet I wrote on my AI tumblr one-of-us-must-be-crazy.
> 
> As usual I can be found @annabellioncourt and you-almost-convinced-me-im-real on the godforksaken website that is tumblr.
> 
> still on the hunt for a beta reader if anyone wants to the job.


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